“So honey…how was your day? Me? Well…I shot a bear.”


I shot a bear.

Not sure if I hit him or not…but that’s not really the important part of the story.  You know what I mean?

I mean…for anyone that knows me…truly knows me that is…just the fact that I’m telling you I shot a bear should have you exclaiming in shouty capitals “LORD LOVE A DUCK…WHAT IN THE SAM HELL IS GOING ON?????”

And the worst part is that I don’t have photographic proof…just the discarded shotgun shell…and that could probably be faked in some way or other.

But to be honest with you…I simply could not figure out how to shoot a picture and shoot a gun at the same time.  That damn thing is heavy!  (The shotgun…not the camera.)  Not that I didn’t try…well, not to actually do it at the same time.  Rather to get a picture of the pesky ursus species IN MY FLOWER GARDEN  (@#^&%&^!#476) first…then shoot second.

To be honest, I was a bit flustered and was trying to grab the camera, dial the phone (because I STILL can not keep from calling the male of the household…even though he was a good 30 minutes away, so what in the blazes was he going to do except to yell at me to go get the gun and shoot the bear…which he did…yell at me that is), alert the 6 year old diva I live with that a bear was on the premises and to stay in her room, and restrain the 14 year old Labrador from jumping through the screen door all at the same time.  Which…I managed to do all of…but then realized that what was most important was to let the black furry thing that was trampling what was left of my flowers know that he was most unwelcome here.  And snapping a few pictures and asking him to say cheese was probably going to be considered quite hospitable.  Not inhospitable.  Which was what I was supposed to be.

So then I ditched the camera, ran for the gun (which is immensely long and heavy…think Daniel Day Lewis in Last of the Mohicans…remember that dude with the long rifle?), tried and succeeded at getting out the front door without the Labrador busting out or shooting either one of us in the foot…took aim and fired.

Now…to be honest…I don’t know if I hit him or not.  But from the way he took off up the hill and then out of sight, I’m thinking that perhaps I’m a pretty good shot.  Compared to the way he sort of ambled up the hill the first time he was here, all insouciant and everything, I’m thinking that perhaps he got the message.

And…in case any of you reading this are thinking that I’m being all illegal and such…shooting at a bear without a hunting license, etc, etc, etc,…or in case any of you think I’ve gone off the deep end and become a card-carrying member of the good ol’ N. R. of A. and turned to the Dark Side of the Force and forsaken my environmentalist, save-the-earth-and-all-its-creatures type ways…don’t you worry a bit.   I was shooting shells full of rubber buckshot.  That are not supposed to penetrate the hide…just cause some bruising of the buttocks (that was where I was aiming anyway).  The idea is to cause a bit of pain associated with a crazy woman running out of the house yelling about getting out of her damned flower garden and brandishing a very big gun.  So that this place becomes less and less enticing…despite the lovely smells wafting from the windows.  (Today those were fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies and a lovely chicken stir fry.)

I do so hope you are getting a good visual of all of this.

Then………as if to add insult to injury…….while I was standing on the porch, trying to wrestle the ridiculously large firearm into a safe position, a rodent popped up and started nibbling on the last new flowering plant to be left standing.  $%*$#&)%*  Can you believe the nerve???????????  It was all I could do not to aim that shotgun and pull the trigger.   I simply could not stomach the idea of the splatter it would make in what’s left of the flower garden…so instead I stomped my foot and yelled rather loudly at the little S-H-I-T.  He just blinked a few times and then slowly backed down into his hole.  Ever seen the movie Ratatouille?  The old lady in the beginning trying to shoot the rats in her attic?  Bug-eyed (her glasses) and aiming that gun at anything she thought was moving?  Hmm-mmm….I was very, VERY close to that this afternoon.

I do have pictures of the flower garden…taken on Friday afternoon.  Sort of a time lapse deal.  About 2 hours apart…showing the disappearance of the flowers one at a time.  I don’t have any since then (I worked this weekend)…but suffice it to say…it’s even worse.  (However, having some problems getting the photos onto the computer, so just trust me when I say…it’s worse.  Much worse.)

But…back to the bear.

I was a mite bit conflicted I will tell you that.  I really just wanted to snap a few pictures…cause the damn bear was in my flower garden…playing with the taxidermically-enhanced pheasant.  And I was wondering what he had to say about the plastic owl with the funky eyes…and he was really sort of cute in a black bear-y sort of way.  If you know what I mean.  Not so much cuddly like a teddy bear…but cute in a lumbering, darkish sort of way.  So it really was sort of difficult to realize I had to scare him off.

But then…I got all Annie Oakley-ish…and actually set off after him…hoping I could take another shot.

???!?!?!?  Good grief Charlie Brown.  What is happening to me?  I truly am going mad…crazy, insane, off-my rocker, certifiably nutso.

I think it started with the gophers.  They better hope I don’t cross over to the Dark Side.  Cause if so…the Emperor and his evil Empire’s got nuthin’ on me.

About madranchwife

Mother, Mad Ranchwife(as in--at times-- crazy, nutso, loco, off-my-rocker insane), Veterinarian, Physical Therapist, "Liberal, pinko, gay-loving, Subaru-driving Socialist" (as I've been called), proud to be a totally tree-huggin', climate change believin', granola girl environmentalist, ObamaGirl, Pro-Choice (don't even get me started here...), and in my younger days a feminist vegetarian as a result of time spent at CU Boulder (this lasted approximately 14 months, until all the Jimmy Buffett I was listening to caused me to crave a cheeseburger). #FindingMyVoice #ScienceMatters
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